


Cold, Dark Earth

by colfield



Category: Swamp Thing (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Human!Alec, Swamp Thing!Susie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfield/pseuds/colfield
Summary: Susie Coyle becomes Swamp Thing instead; Alec and Abby work together to find a cure.





	Cold, Dark Earth

**Author's Note:**

> You have to be the change you want to see in the world - and the change I want to see most is more Swamp Thing (2019) content. So here I am, putting this out into the world, in the hopes that someone else is looking for that as well. Each chapter will follow the corresponding episode of the show, with obvious divergence to make this plot work.
> 
> Title is owed entirely to Work Song by Hozier.

Marais has a way of getting under your skin; a thorn burrowing deep no matter how hard you try to cut it out.

Abby watches the familiar sight of childhood haunts blur through the car window. An old song fizzes on the radio between bouts of static, tugging a memory out. She flicks the dial of the radio, silencing the screech of a banjo. Harlan glances at her, a frown tightening his expression, but he presses whatever he wants to say between pursed lips.

The scenery fades into the swamp, looming dark and gray around them. A little girl is out there, sick and terrified, all answers to what started this outbreak gone with her.

But she’s not Abby’s concern, as she’s been told repeatedly. There are four people waiting for her at the hospital already, suffering an illness no one has any idea how to stop. She’s here to do her job - that’s all. The missing girl isn’t her responsibility.

Abby rubs a hand over her forehead, digging her thumb into the soft give of her temple until it throbs.

It’s going to be a long day.

-

Someone should really do something about the security at this hospital. It’s too easy for Alec to slip into the quarantine ward unnoticed, stained shirt, flip-flops and all.

His fingers twitch against his side, eyes darting between the flow of people for something useful, tangible. If his calculations are correct, and they almost always are, there’s got to be proof that the mutagens are experiencing the same rapid acceleration in humans as in the swamp.

He just needs to find that proof.

He spots his opportunity as a nurse sets a charts down, distracted. Quickly, before anyone can question him, he grabs the chart, flipping through rows of numbers and scribbled shorthand notes. It’s not exactly what he needs, but it’s a start.

Alec is running through the numbers, searching out the pattern, and he doesn’t notice the serious, intense woman until she’s caught him. He answers her clipped question offhand. He’s found if you pretend you’re meant to be there, few people actually take the time to question you.

This woman isn’t like that. She pulls the chart away from him with an agitated shake of her head, staring him down.

Alec blinks, licks his lips. Something catches his attention in her expression, a curiosity hidden under her hostility, mirroring that same hunger that turns Alec dizzy and hectic for answers.

That busybody nurse interrupts them, threatening security and shoving him towards the exit before he can find the words to explain that they are made of the same material, logic and facts and science.

“You’re gonna wanna speak to me sooner or later,” he throws over his shoulder at the doctor.

When she does come to him, it’s with a gun aimed at his head and that spark lighting up her eyes.

-

A therapist once told Abby, during a CDC mandated session after a particularly brutal outbreak of hantavirus in Chile, that she lacked self-preservation. The voice that others have, the one that warns them against imminent danger, is silent in Abby’s head.

“You are so single-focused, Abigail, that put yourself at unnecessary risk.” He’d always called her Abigail. She remembers his office - minimalist design, everything chrome and sharp edged, cold and distant. He was academic pale, gray speckling his hairline, beard neatly trimmed. He’d never held a child hemorrhaging and dying in his arms; never seen a woman drown on the fluid buildup in her lungs; never sweated out in a jungle or desert, feeling like you’ll never scrub the blood and dirt off your hands.

As she sits in Eddie Coyle’s driveway, she thinks maybe he was right.

Edward Coyle is the sole guardian of Susie, age nine, only child. She showed up to school two days ago, feverish and shaking, displaying the same mystery symptoms as the other four patients. Somewhere between school and the hospital, Susie disappeared, along with Eddie, his boat, and any trace of getting to the root of this.

A police cruiser pulls up behind her. Abby swipes at her cheeks, puffy from lack of sleep, tucking her hair back behind her shoulders. A nervous tick that she’d thought she’d left behind in Marais. Apparently, it returned when she did.

“Matt,” she forces a smile, watching him climb out of the car. His uniform is too big, ill fitting and creased awkwardly, no doubt from being left in a heap on the floor somewhere. He looks the same as the last time she saw him, a frown pulling his serious face down.

Her shakes his head at her. “This is an active crime scene, Abby,” he says instead of greeting her. “I shouldn’t be letting you in.”

“I need to find the pathogen so I can figure out how to treat these people.” She glances up at the house, cluttered and creaking in the wind. It looks like every other fishermen’s house she grew up with - mostly ruined fishing gear strewn about the yard, rubber boots left to dry on the deck, rusted out pieces ripped from a boat. Overall a bit rundown but altogether unassuming. “Maybe there’s some clue in here to what started it all.”

Matt sighs, the world-weary punch of breath Abby remembers from all those chemistry study sessions a lifetime ago. “When Susie was reported missing, we stopped by, but Coyle’s boat was already gone. Only family is Eddie’s brother, lives in the next town over, but he swears he hasn’t heard from them.” She follows him up the uneven steps, stopping when he glances back to tell her, “no one’s seen them.”

“And did anyone search the house?”

He gives her a look then, one she’s received from a lot of officers over the years, and knows the answer before he starts in on the excuses. “We’re stretched thin as it is, Abby. There’s an APB out for them, but we don't have enough manpower to comb through a clearly abandoned house.” He raises his voice over her scoff and eyeroll.

“Whatever this is, it started with this little girl. And for all we know, she’s out there spreading this to others, or worse, and you can’t even be bothered to do a sweep of the house?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He’s blocking the door, ducking his head to catch her eye. “And, I’m letting you search the house. We both know you’d do a better job of it, anyway.”

She glances away. A child’s bike is on its side in the yard, paint chipped away and rusted over. A kiddie pool, tipped upside down, covered in a winter’s worth of dirt and leaf debris. Signs that this house was once home to a child. “You’re right.” She says around a sigh, gesturing for him continue up the stairs.

The front door creaks open at Matt’s knock. Stale humid air pushes against them when they step inside. The buzz of flies echo in Abby’s ears - a half finished bowl of cereal sits at the table, milk gone brown and solid around the pieces of remaining corn flakes.

There’s movement above them, the old wood sagging under the weight of footfalls.

“Matt -”

“I hear it.” He slips easily into Cop Mode, drawing his gun and motioning for Abby to follow behind him.

What they find is that idiot from the hospital - Alec Holland - and an Eddie Coyle eviscerated by plant matter, like he walked out of a horror movie.

-

Doctor Arcane - Abby Arcane - follows Alec to his boat. She might not believe him yet, but she’s with him and she’s listening. When she answers his question, it’s with a gentle tease in her voice, a smile just below the surface.

It’s a start.

Mist curls off the water, leaving damp imprints on everything. The swamp is alive around them - the buzzing songs of mating calls, snapping of far off branches, water rippling as the body of something slips underneath. It’s a melody Alec has come to recognize, living among the plants and animals, a pattern that speaks of decay and creation.

Garou happily trots along next to her as she wanders the edge of his lab. She’s cataloging everything, he realizes, trying to put together what it is he’s working on. The lab hasn’t had visitors - ever. It’s disorganized, in a way that screams dipshit bachelor scientist, but hopefully also hints that he’s on to something.

He maybe shows off a little for her benefit. She’s a brilliant doctor, motivated and passionate and willing to give him a chance. And, well, she’s quite lovely too. There is a not insignificant part of him that wants to impress her.

It works. Not exactly how he imagined, but.

She gives him this look, the inverse of the expression he saw at the hospital hours earlier. That same hunger, now given a taste of the hunt, coming alive across her face. It burns down Alec’s spine, electric and intoxicating.

“Can you get me to the hospital?”

A promise that he’s a part of this now, no matter the outcome.

-

Alec’s arms are tight around her middle - holding her firm, grounding her. His voice is in her ear, a warm rush of breath. His pulse beats a rhythm under her thumb. He smells like the swamp - sour notes of his sweat under a damp, woodsy scent, the sharp tang of repellent.

These are the things Abby focuses on as vines lash at the ceiling. Glass showers down around them, bulbs flickering madly.

“We gotta go,” he keeps repeating, ridiculous sandals slipping against the tile as he struggles to stay upright. Abby tightens her grip on his wrist, fingers digging into the metal of his bracelet.

“We have to stop it.” Abby says. He freezes against her back for a moment before he’s shoving her forward. She crawls to the other side of the divider they’re using as a shield.

“I have an idea.” He nods at her, eyes locked on the plants sprouting from the dead man’s body. “Go get help.”

“Alec -”

“Go, go now,” he shouts, then he’s ducking out of sight, scurrying across the room. Abby exhales, pushing onto her feet to charge out of the autopsy room. Windows shatter as vines burst through the glass. She screams, falling to her knees, hands coming up to cover her neck as the vines thrash wildly through the air.

“Alec.” She shouts again, peaking around the doorway. He looks up at her just as he drops his lighter to the floor, a wall of heat exploding between them.

A noise like a shriek fills the air as the deformity goes up in flames. The vines above her retract back to the host, raining more glass over her. As the plants fall away, mostly burned now, Abby rushes back into the room to grab the fire extinguisher. The scattered remains of Eddie Coyle’s body severed and charred on the floor.

“Well.” Alec laughs shakily, running a hand through his curls, wrist stained red.

“You’re bleeding,” Abby grabs his arm, dropping the extinguisher. She turns his arm over in her hands to examine the wound. His skin is warm under her fingers, muscles tensing as she pulls him closer. There’s a thin laceration, two inches at most, ugly and jagged. Blood pools along the pale underside of his forearm.

-

The bar is loud, suffocating, too many sounds and smells pressing up against him. Nausea coils in his stomach. The humidity hangs like a heavy cloak over his back, sweat clinging to his skin as he follows Abby through the crowd.

She had hovered over him while the nurse cleaned and bandaged him, her hands reaching and jerking away again in the same movement, as if she couldn’t decide whether to touch him.

She had wanted to run more tests, her mouth pinched with worry. “We don’t know how this spreads,” she murmured, hip resting against his thigh where she stood by the bed’s edge.

“I’m fine,” he had said, mouth tilted in reassurance. It wasn’t even a lie - he had hardly felt whatever cut him, and even now there was no pain outside of the adhesive tugging the fine hairs of his arm. “I’ll be with you.” She met his gaze, holding it for a long moment.

The faint scent of smoke still lingered in her hair when he reached for the tiny, glittering piece of glass stuck to her cheek.

He wants to tangle his fingers in her hair again, chase the smoke, press into her and let the steady measure of her breathing calm his wild thoughts.

He clenches his fist, the gauze covering his forearm pulling at his skin as the muscles flex.

Abby’s friend is a tall, impossibly cool woman named Liz. He hangs back, rubbing at an ache forming at the base of his neck. They fall into each other with an easy familiarity that speaks of an old friendship. When Liz greets him, it’s with a firm grip and a calculating look. He likes her immediately.

She ushers him to the bar, where they hover together while Maria Sunderland moralizes at Abby, her angry, sharp voice carrying over the strands of country twang. He makes no secret of watching them. Abby’s face crumbles, her words lost to him in the crowd, but Liz stops him before he can intervene with a short shake of her head.

“It’s complicated,” she says, rolling her eyes. Alec nods, understands that better than anyone, the need for recrimination, a voice to the thoughts that roll dark and cruel inside your own head. Confirmation that all that pain and shame is deserved.

Abby swipes a tear away. Exhaustion and the bourbon have given the margins a hazy glow, and the lamp catches the streak of wetness on her cheeks, the same faint glimmer of that glass hidden in her hair. He blinks dizzy black stars from his vision, leaning into the bar as the memory of the hospital slips away and the crush of the bar fills in.

Maria is gone when he turns back to Abby. She’s silent, hands covering her face.

He doesn’t say anything, curling fists into the pocket of his shorts. He’s known her for half a day, hardly any time at all, certainly not long enough to justify the protective urge tightening his chest.

-

Something was bound to break. The storm caves first, sky opening up above them.

They’re drenched by the time they make it back to Alec’s lab.

His shirt is thin enough to see through, sodden and dripping as he fumbles with the equipment. Abby has to purposefully divert her eyes, focusing instead on Garou who happily laps up her attention.

Still, she can sense Alec downstairs, her body tensed to his movements. Her skin is buzzing, an undercurrent of anticipation making her fidgety and anxious. They are onto something here, with the laptop and chemicals retrieved from Coyle’s boat. The pieces are fitting together, the mystery unraveling. Whatever answers they find here will bring them one step closer to solving the cause of this illness.

That’s not all, though.

Alec’s arms around her waist. His fingers against her cheek. The careful, curious way he watches her.

It’s intimate, this corner of the lab, the rain creating a hush around them. They share a bottle, the alcohol burning her lips, his eyes blue and bright as he tips it against his own.

She prods at an old wound, tripping with questions. Instead of recoiling, shutting down or turning her away, he answers. Honesty tinged with regret, cold and unwavering.

She likes him more for it.

Owes him the same, in return.

“Abby,” he says her name with a reverence she doesn’t deserve, after they have compared demons. “Why’d you Google me?”

“I’m sorry,” and she lets the smile unfurl over her lips, the tension shifting into something sweeter. “Your query got back no results.”

He smiles, but it trembles at the edge. Sways forward, like he’s become unmoored, hands blindly reaching for the corner of his work bench. Blinks confusion away with an unsteady shake of his head.

“Alec?” Abby stands, concern pulling her forward.

“I’m fine,” he gasps, a cough wracking through his body. His hands slip away from table, another cough choking him, breath rattling as he collapses to the floor.

“Alec,” Abby shouts. Garou barks, rushing to Alec’s side, who doesn’t respond, still struggling for breath. “Hey, Alec, Alec,” she repeats his name like a prayer, pressing her hands over his feverish skin. He’s sweating, eyes closed tightly against an unseen attack, leaning into her touch as he shudders, forehead falling onto her shoulder.

The veins in his neck are green.

-

Alec wakes to pitch black, an endless echoing emptiness. His breath sticks in his throat, drowning on the stench of rot, swamp water filling his lungs.

Panic constricts his limbs. He claws desperately up from the cold, dark earth. There is light somewhere, safety, warmth, _home_, just out of reach. The memory of that sensation filters through his fear.

This terror is a creature, alive and vicious, fangs sunk deep into his softest parts. His fingers find purchase in a tangle of creature’s matter, yanking until something comes loose. A scream, guttural and inhuman, tears free. Grief and anger melding into an agony that sinks through his consciousness like a corpse into water.

Awareness creeps in slowly, vines tightening around his heart.

This isn’t his body. This isn’t his mind.

It belongs to the vast unknown of the swamp. Something out there is calling to him, something lost and scared, begging for help.

He drops into the drugged fog of oblivion before he can answer.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a pretty constant state of crying over this show (and andy bean) if anyone is interested in chatting about either of those things you can find me [here](https://colfields.tumblr.com/)


End file.
